


Want

by separatedrain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/separatedrain/pseuds/separatedrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn't entirely sure what he expected to find, but “Cas, naked with the bedsheets kicked aside, thrusting up into his own fist with fervor” wasn’t very high on the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want

**Author's Note:**

> Set in some vague, unspecified portion of S9 where Cas is human and living at the bunker. ([Tumblr version here](http://separatedrain.tumblr.com/post/67292906175/the-door-to-cas-room-isnt-closed-all-the-way))

The door to Cas’ room isn’t closed all the way. It’s not opened quite far enough to look inside, either, but it still allows sound to travel into the hallway. Which is how Dean picks up on the heavy, slightly erratic breathing coming from inside as he’s walking past, early that morning. In a moment of blissful naivete, Dean actually assumes Cas might be having a nightmare.

He pauses at the entrance for a second, unsure whether he should go in and try to wake Cas up. Then the gasps get punctuated by a groan, and Dean decides _fuck it_ , and swings open the door.

He’s not entirely sure what he expected to find, but “Cas, naked with the bedsheets kicked aside, thrusting up into his own fist with fervor” wasn’t very high on the list.

The ex-angel doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, either truly oblivious or too far gone to care. Dean knows he should leave, but it’s like he’s rooted to the spot, mesmerised.

Okay, so maybe he had wondered, on occasion, whether this was a thing that Cas did, now. Maybe, once or twice, he’d even wondered about it pretty graphically, jerking himself off as he went, although he probably wouldn’t admit to that even under torture. It’d still done him little good in preparing for the reality of Cas, all flushed and panting in front of him, making obscene little noises that travel straight down to Dean’s own dick.

And wow, he is _so_ taking back any comment he might ever have made about Cas being junkless.

Dean finally manages to tear his gaze away and turns to leave. Probably a good idea to… go take care of things. Back in his own room. Yeah.

“Dean?”

Dean wheels back around mid not-so-suave exit. Cas has stilled, to an extent, breathing evening out somewhat, though he’s still slowly stroking along his length even now, the bastard, like he can’t quite help himself.

“Yeah. Uh. I thought— I was just on my way to…” He waves vaguely by way of explanation. Smooth, Winchester. “Never mind. You just keep, uh…”

Cas’ eyes travel down his body before coming to rest on what is now a rather embarrassing hard-on, and yeah, okay, that’ll be his cue for attempt number two at getting the hell out of here. At least one of them should try and maintain some sense of personal boundaries, right? And clearly, that one isn’t Cas, who suddenly says, in a tone that’s almost _conversational_ , “I was thinking about you, you know.”

“You were— What? You mean— just now?” Dean forcefully wills enough blood back into his upstairs brain to process this for a second, and then he’s finally turning towards the hallway. Only now, it’s to shut the door to Cas’ room, instead. Holy crap, this is actually happening. Actually, Dean is no longer entirely convinced he woke up ten minutes ago, but fuck, if this is a dream, it’s rapidly turning into the best one ever.

“I have to say, though, I imagined you as a more active participant,” Cas says, picking up the pace again. It’s basically Cas-speak for _so are you just gonna stand there and watch..?_ , Dean realises, and jesus, how did the dude develop game while he wasn’t looking?

Dean wastes no further time divesting himself of his clothes and sliding into the bed beside him. Cas looks up at him, eyes hungry, piercing, _wanting_ , and then it only takes a split-second for sexual tension to win out over any residual awkwardness, and he’s kissing Cas. After having spent longer than he’d care to admit wondering what those lips might feel like against his own, Dean is kissing Cas. And maybe there aren’t any fireworks going off, and he’s also pretty sure the world hasn’t stopped turning, and yet he feels like he has to physically restrain himself in order to not come right then and there, his bottom lip caught between Cas’ teeth.

Dean’s hand joins Cas’ own, long fingers still wrapped around his cock. He matches Cas’ strokes and is rewarded with a moan against the side of his mouth, before Cas suddenly stills. Dean pauses, as well, unsure what’s happening. “Uh, I thought you wanted me—”

“I do,” Cas says, and Dean discovers his voice can apparently go _even lower_. “I do want you.”

“Okay, well, you have me,” Dean grins somewhat cheesily, but Cas shakes his head even as he continues to rut up into Dean’s hand almost involuntarily, little rolling motions from his hips.

“I want you inside me.”

_Oh._

“Well, in that case, I should probably run to my room real quick and grab—”

“Bedside drawer,” Cas interrupts before he has a chance to get up. Dean rolls over to have a look, and sure enough. Even after everything that’s just happened, some distant part of his brain tries to wrap itself around the fact that _Cas_ has _lube_ with a decent amount of surprise. He tells it to shut up while he uncaps the thing and warms up some of the sticky-smooth liquid between his fingers.

Cas has rolled onto his side and Dean slots in right behind him, teeth scraping the side of Cas’ neck as he presses one slick finger inside him. He follows it up with a second shortly afterwards, curling, rubbing. Cas pushes back against him, writhing, one hand tangled in the bedsheets.

Dean didn’t think he’d ever get to watch him come undone like this, and now that it’s happening, it’s almost unbearably hot. He presses a kiss to the underside of Cas’ jaw, whispers a string of filthy nothings in his ear. There’s a moment where he thinks he ought to feel dirty for saying all _that_ to a former angel, but in reality it just adds to his arousal. He twists his fingers a little to flick against Cas’ prostate again. Cas arches up, cursing in some ancient language.

Cas suddenly moves to slip off Dean’s hand, flipping him onto his back and straddling his hips instead. “The idea was to feel you inside me _before_ I come, you know,” he growls, reaching for Dean’s cock. Strokes it just once, hand cold and slippery with the lube Dean hadn’t even seen him grab.

Dean feels an odd little surge of pride at nearly having gotten Cas off on just his fingers. Then his brain short-circuits as Cas lifts himself up just a little before sinking back down, taking in the length of him in one swift move. Cas doesn’t even bother to start out slow, apparently close enough indeed that he sets a pretty frantic rhythm right from the get-go. He holds himself steady with a vice-like grip on Dean’s shoulder, using his free hand to fist his own cock again.

From there on out, it doesn’t take long until Cas is coming in thick white spurts all down his stomach. Maybe that’s what does it. Or maybe it’s the visual of Cas, hovering inches above him all sweaty and debauched. Maybe it’s just simply the way Cas clenches around him. Either way, it only takes one, maybe two additional thrusts before Dean’s own orgasm abruptly washes over him.

“Fuck,” he says eloquently, once he’s managed to catch his breath again. It’s the myriad of emotions running through him all summed up into one word, and it’ll have to do, for now. “Fuck, Cas.”

“Again? So soon?” Cas deadpans. He’s collapsed next to Dean, absently tracing a pattern in a drying puddle of come.

“Well. I’d say we do have a lot of wasted time to make up for.”


End file.
